"See, here's the thing. There's nothing better in life than simply hanging out, smelling the fresh breeze." Roa jabbed a finger at the brute opposite him, the giant clad in red holding his protege in his arm, as they straddled the support structure of the Mion River Bridge. "You get me, right?"

"Oh, of course!" Rider laughed, hearty and violent, shaking the beam on which he sat. Waver Velvet, hanging from Iskandar's thumb and forefinger, screamed.

"Rider! What are you doing? I told you to find the enemy so you could kill him, not chit-chat! Put me down this instant and get out your spatha and- Wait! Are you even listening to me? I'll use a Command Spell on you! Honest, I will!"

Rider gave no sign he noticed his Master's flailing words. Roa gestured to Waver with his knife. "Is he always this annoying?"

"Oh, him?" Iskandar asked, then looked down at Waver. When Waver saw this, he was again filled with righteous indignation. "Ah, so you listen to him and not to me? What the hell sort of Servant are you? Oh God... I was so excited to be getting the legendary King of Conquerors on my side. I didn't know he was going to be such an old woman, who just came back to life in order to gossip..."

Iskandar laughed and turned back to Roa. "Annoying? He's hilarious!" Iskandar gave Waver a little shake as if to confirm his affection. A plaintive cry: "Iskandar! No! Bad Iskandar! Bad! No trousers for you!"

Roa watched, alternately bemused and... utterly amazed that someone whose fame even reached his ears would be like this. He liked it.

"I bet he's great at mana transfer, eh?"

"Ha, you would think," Iskandar said, having begun to throw Waver in the air and juggle him between his two hands, never once taking his eyes off Roa, "But actually, he has very little in the way of natural mana stores. I make do on my own, I suppose." He shrugged.

Waver floated through the air, bouncing like a limp ragdoll in a Grand Theft Auto game.

"Speaking of mana transfer," Iskandar said, apparently having forgotten his Master, who now hung perilously off a beam behind him, "I haven't had the chance - I'm saving it till after I win the War, you see - but, the women in this era... they're really great, aren't they? I'd take them over any Persian hierodules." He winked lasciviously.

"Rider, you betray the hedonism of your era," said Roa, a wry smile on his lips.

"Well, you say that like it's a bad thing!"

"Isn't it, though? Let me explain: While you flit from whore to whore, filling your gullet with the finest of plundered wines, soaking your skin in perfumed oils... doesn't your heart long for something more? Isn't there some need at the core of your being that can't be filled by this?"

"Well," Iskandar scratched his beard. "In all honesty... yes, yes there is."

"Do you see what I see, then?" Roa leaned forward.

"I see what is... far away. It lies just beyond the horizon, and I cannot stop myself from journeying towards it, so that one day I can grasp it with my very own hands."

"Yes! Yes! This is exactly it! Exactly it, Rider!" Roa moved a few feet closer. "And then?"

Rider tilted his head. "Then?"

"Yes, then! What happens then?"

"Erm... I haven't actually thought about it." He broke into another laughing fit. "To think I've been searching for this all my life, and never given thought to what would happen after." His laughter died away. "Now that you mention it... I think that would be everything. I think that I would hold that satisfaction close to my chest, and thank the gods for having allowed me to achieve my dreams. At that point, it's time for my successors to take over." He gestured to his prone Master behind him, little cartoon stars hovering over his head.

"Your Master was right," Roa said, his face fallen. "You really don't live up to the stories they told about you. Here. Let me tell you what real life is like, a worthy purpose for one to pursue, one that gives, rather than takes life. One that pushes you further and further so that you push your live as far as it goes so you can continue to pursue it, and once you have it, to rejoice in its possession."

"And what, pray tell, is this, Servant Assassin?"

"Simple," Roa said. "That which wraps your soul in its embrace, pulls you deeper and deeper in and never lets you go. It burns your back with the streaks of its nails, and yet you can't help but pursue it all the same. It is that which gladdens the heart of man, ignites a fire in his heart, and tames it. Iskandar... have you ever loved a woman?"

"My boy, I've loved more women than you've ever seen!" He laughed now, louder than before. "Every night I had my pick of the dozens of slavegirls brought to me by my loyal men, who showed their devotion to me by always saving the prettiest-cheeked maidens for my bed."

"You've read too much Homer, my friend. There is far more to a woman than her cheeks; there is her heart, her indomitable spirit. It is that which truly makes her beautiful. If you haven't seen that, you've never loved a woman. You have only slept with them."

"I fail to see the difference, Assassin," said Iskandar. "I have caressed many, and some I still remember fondly, to this very day."

"'Many'? Therein lies the problem, Rider; the fact that you can even think of other women just shows that you've never properly loved any. If you had, your thoughts would be consumed by her every instant, and everything you would be doing would be for the sake of reuniting with her, of kissing her, tasting her flesh, and possessing her to her very soul. That is love, and that is something you have never tasted; your heart was too full with wine to notice its real lack. I would pity you and offer you a chance at a second life, but I'm afraid you're not worthy; I shall have to take the Grail for myself, and win back my only love, the maiden of my heart, the Princess of the Moon."

Rider shrugged. "You're awfully narrow-minded, Assassin, but if it's a fight you want, it's a fight you'll get. I can't deny myself the joy of combat, not after all this time. Especially not after seeing what you did to Lancer."

Roa allowed himself a smirk. "I appreciate the compliment, Rider." He stood up, one foot hanging off the iron girding overhanging the cars on the bridge below. "Shall we begin? Out of respect for your former conquests, I will be happy to let you spirit your Master away to safety."

Iskandar cracked his neck, and stood up. "Even unconscious, his spirit should witness this. He'll need it, later on." He gave a thoughtful glance back.

"Indeed! Perhaps then," the unknown voice resounded through the air, "he will know the true purpose of this life. Now." A golden thread appeared in the air above Iskandar and Roa, coiled around itself, and assumed human form. A Servant - what else could this presence be? - clad in glorious gold appeared from the midst of the cloud. "How dare the two of you mongrels intrude upon my sacred space? To lay claim to the treasures of the King is an offence punishable by death."

"Goldie..." Iskandar rolled his eyes.

"You know this guy?" Roa asked.

"For better or for worse, I suppose I do," Iskandar replied. "What has brought you here tonight? Why do you interrupt our conversation? You know we would be happy to include you, if you only wanted to join."

"I? Join the likes of you? Please," the shining Servant scoffed, his smirk assuming an air of regnal superiority. "It would be an insult to me, and entirely wasted upon you mongrels. Now, as always, it is my lot to be forced to listen to the unintelligible whinings of the rabble as they claim to actually know things, when the ultimate arbiter of all truth and law stands above them, always watching, always waiting to exact heavenly judgment upon them that dare to defy his rule. And now listen! For I say unto you: Neither of you has any basis for such discussions."

"Oh, come on, Archer," said Iskandar. "You know as well as I do that I trampled upon the most distant reaches of your own petty kingdom," - Archer stiffened - "Which, at its peak, was never more than a few cities wide. You think to lecture a man who conquered all the known world - save a small patch of the East, no point in focusing on that - about the pleasures of the flesh? I assure you; no matter how excellent the women you loved in your time, I loved their descendants; and, if I've learned nothing else from this era, it's that the beauty of women only improves over the generations, like the cider pressed from the Golden Apples of the Hesperides."

Archer's anger crept forth in his words, through gritted teeth. "Perhaps, Rider. But, in all your drunken wanderings over the deserts of this world, did you ever stop and settle down in one place? To rule, as a king should? I think not. I think you were led by your puerile fantasies across the vast reaches of desert, leaving only your men to rule in your stead. You were never any sort of king, only a boy searching without for something he could only ever find within."

Iskandar stood up, and opened his mouth as if to speak, but Gilgamesh signalled to him with an outstretched arm.

"Ah, ah, ah! Quiet, fool, until your King has finished speaking and given you leave to reply. Let me at least tell you what you've been missing of the amatory arts. Let me relate to you the true nature of eroticism and love. Surely you can allow yourself that much enlightenment?"

"Say your piece," said Iskandar.

Gilgamesh smiled.

"Rider," Roa said. "You going to let him talk to you like that?"

"Trust me, Assassin," Iskandar replied. "He thinks even less of you than he does of me; at least he deigns to address me. Isn't that right, Archer?"

Gilgamesh looked down at Rider.

"As I said," continued Iskandar. "In addition, it's the least I can do to show the openheartedness of a true ruler, to let even those who insult me have the floor when it is their turn. Plus, you've not yet had to deal with him, but... he's a menace."

Roa shrugged. "Fine, whatever you say." He sat back down, straddling the curved beam overhanging the bridge. He took out his knife and twirled it between his fingers.

"Now, Rider, picture yourself - though of course you cannot, but try your best - as a king. You recline on your throne at the end of a day of ruling your kingdom, ensuring the welfare of an entire city which is an integral part of you as much as your arm or leg. At the end of the day, as your leg aches, you call one of your slaves to you. She was once a princess of, say, Lagash, but when you attacked the city to firmly bring them under your domain you took her as a prize. And you make her, once a proud future regina, caress your thighs. You watch her," Gilgamesh smiled, eyes unfocused, "and you humiliate her in the best way you know how. Tell me, Rider, is there anything better? I hope you can dimly see that the true measure of a woman is not her beauty, but her pride and how she holds herself; that it may be all the more satisfying to push her down, make her taste the dirt, until her nobility of spirit is broken and she is nothing more than an extension of yourself, a mere vessel for your love."

Rider bristled, the hears of his beard stnding on end. He sighed. "Archer, I do not know why I continue to expect more of you. You keep on disappointing me with your shortsighted cruelty. There are reasons I undertook to conquer the East, not least of which was to quell such barbarous sentiments. Seriously... how can you call yourself a civilized man, treating women that way? Even in the deepest parts of our Hellenic past we were never so uncaring; Helen was loved and admired, as was Briseis, by the most brutal of our ancient warriors."

"Fool," Archer replied, "We saw women for what they were, rather than mere pretty faces... Yet, I don't think there's any point in this anymore." He cocked his head in Roa's direction. "Shall I leave you to your fun, then?"

"Oh, are you too scared to get in the middle of a real fight, then?" Roa called from the back, a wicked grin on his face. "Still miss those soft couches and softer chicks of your obsolete era?"

Archer regarded Roa. "Mongrel, do you desire a quick death? Or shall I extend it, delighting in your yelps and viscera?"

"Either way's fine by me," Roa said. "I aim to please."

Archer spat. "Tch... Rider, I leave this one to you. It irks me and I cannot bear to look at it. Only, make sure to preserve yourself so I can later enjoy fighting you at full form." He faded back into the aureous ether from which he came, and by the time the golden shower cleared, Roa was standing in his previous position.

"So, Rider... wanna pick up where we left off when that prick interrupted us?"

"Thought you'd never ask," Rider purred deeply, and stood.

XXX

Roa lay down, left arm hanging off the side of the support straits, as his right arm held his knife over his face. He looked at it through eyes soaked with sweat, stinging. The light glinted beautifully off the blade. He turned it in his hand to watch the way it cast its reflection. He saw his own face in the blade. The smile of true joy gladdened him. He turned the knife to point at his face, and licked the point.

"God... Rider, that was great. Haven't had fun like that in years."

"Sure, anytime," Rider said, affable. "But, wouldn't you prefer a cup for your wine?"

Roa bent his neck backwards to face him. "What are you talking about, Rider? There's no better way to drink anything - wine, blood, whatever - than licking it from the tip of a blade..." He paused for a moment. "Well, maybe you wouldn't understand, I don't know. I have an... interesting past, myself." He looked back at the knife, and licked the wine off the tip. He then dipped it into a small lacquered bowl which Rider had told him contained "the best alcohol this land has to offer!" Roa, having inhabited many countries throughout his lifespans, wasn't terribly impressed, but he liked Rider enough to humor him every once in a while. "And this stuff deserves to be drunk in the best way possible."

"Heh, you're too kind," Rider chuckled. He poured himself a cup and swirled it around below his nostrils, flaring them to absorb the full scent of the wine. He sniffed loudly. "Mm, you're right, though. This modern world truly is great, if they've been able to improve on classical winemaking techniques like this. Hey, Assassin, what say you we go tour a vineyard?"

"Appreciate the offer, old man, but you and I are kinda busy nowadays, aren't we?" Roa replied. "Pretty soon we'll have to get serious about this and actually start fighting people... which, I think you'll agree, is fun in its own way." Rider nodded, and Roa continued. "A man of culture. So." He stood up, wiped his wine-covered knife on the leg of his trousers. "What do you plan to do with that... precocious Master of yours? I get that you like him, but how are you going to stop his youthful impatience from getting in the way of that cold, measured "World Conquest!" you keep telling me about?" He pointed to Waver, who had started to stand up behind his Servant. Rider couldn't have noticed, Roa thought - although, the big man could've been far more aware of his surroundings than he let on. Waver had lifted a flask of glowing blue fluid high above his head, looking like he was about to throw it at Roa.

Rider put down his wine, and turned his neck to his Master. He tried to pretend he was asleep, throwing himself back into a prone position - likely afraid of another juggling session, Roa mused - but Rider's eyes widened. "Master... what are you doing?"

Rider's Master gave up his obviously futile attempt to feign unconsciousness by blowing large snot bubbles from his nose. "Rider! He! Is! Enemy!" He gesticulated wildly at Roa, who simply stood, bemused. "If you're not going to do anything about it, I will! Honestly!" He stamped his feet, almost fell off the beam, and managed to hook his arms around it. "Riderrrrrrr~! Help!"

"Such a curious boy you are," Rider said, gently lifting his Master from the beam, and seating him on his own lap. His Master was crying now, tears flowing from his eyes and mucous from his nose. Rider looked at him incredulous. "Do you not even know of the friendship that blooms on the battlefield? Why fight if you cannot meet your foes with honour and mutual respect?"

"But Riderrrrr," he sobbed, his words mixing with his mucous.

Waver felt a firm thrusting from behind. He was embraced by his Servant. Iskandar's large, Baltic hands caressed Waver's small, fragile back. Waver was of Anglo-Saxon heritage but he much more strongly identified with Welsh poets sitting in mouldy basements than the great warriors of his nation's past. The large hand was a comfort to him. His face was pressed against Iskandar's beard. It pricked him, but he enjoyed the sensation. This man was his Servant, sworn to protect him. If Iskandar felt that it was ok, then shouldn't Waver trust him? Wasn't that the bargain they had struck? Rider would, as he did in life, manage the strategy of their Holy Grail campaign, while Waver would advise as Rider's retainer. His Magus, as it were.

Waver's tears slowed, the torrent becoming a trickle, then nothing more than the sort of dried-up wadi that Rider might have stopped by in his journeys through the Middle East. Much as a wadi gives nothing in the wrong season, so too, Waver reasoned, he should not cry now. It would be unbefitting of the man he is becoming. What would Rider say, if Waver proved to be nothing more than a lacrimal pissant? No, that must be avoided at all costs. He had already lost enough face in front of his Servant, not to mention the enemy! There must be some way to turn this to his own tactical advantage, though...

Ah! Of course!

It must have been Rider's plan for him to feel this way, to break down this way! In fact, as long as he doesn't let anything slip, Rider will probably be proud of him.

So, all he needs to do is just play along. Oh, that resourceful Servant of his. Always looking out to maximize their chances of victory.

God, between us we really can get the Grail, can't we?

I bet all that crap about reincarnation and world conquest is just for show too. Make me think he's not as great as he is, so I can be even more in awe when he wins the Holy Grail War for me.

Heh.

Typical ancient Macedonian conqueror.

Waver looked up at Rider, doe-eyed. "Rider, does this mean we can trust him?"

Rider smiled. "Well, sure, boy! As much as we can trust anyone, we can trust Assassin here." He turned and gestured to Assassin to come over. Assassin sighed, walked over to the pair, leaned in close to Waver. He raised his knife to his lips, and ran his tongue over the sharp edge of the blade so that a thin trail of his own blood coated it. He held it before Waver's face. It dripped before him, red drops.

"Thirsty, my dude?"

Waver turned his face away, and nuzzled against Rider's ear. "He scares me," he whimpered.

"Me too, boy, me too," Rider whispered.

"Yeah, me too," Roa whispered.

Oh, Assassin. You think you have us wrapped around your thumb, but just you wait! My Servant and I will use you as we see fit, and when we're done, you'll find yourself with a knife in your back. Or a spatha. Whatever. A fitting end to an Assassin.

Heh.

XXX

Waver Velvet lay on his back in the room he was borrowing from the McKenzies. As he looked at the jersey he was borrowing hanging on the wall, and let his body sink into the bed he was also borrowing, he felt a quiet satisfaction. The newfound strength - which, needless to say, he was borrowing for the moment, until he could make it his own - of his Servant made everything seem so easy. Like there was no challenge left in the world.

Waver had seen what Assassin had done to Lancer. That sort of transformation was unthinkable. A Servant coming out of another Servant? What the hell? And yet the Grail seemed to allow it. The Grail was a strange object, which seemed to have strictly defined rules the one moment, and the next, allowed whatever sort of plot contrivance it deems necessary to keep the story interesting.

Waver would have almost been worried at the caprices of the golden goblet, but he realized that, no matter what, his Servant was the most superior of all, and...

Am I really the most superior of all Masters, though? Do I deserve the King of Conquerors, Alexander himself? I stole the relic, and arranged my own transportation to Fuyuki and a place to stay. But since then, I've done absolutely nothing on my own, unaided.

He looked across the room at Rider, asleep, snoring on the ground. He was covered in empty crisp bags, with a WWII surplus helmet hanging tenuously off one of his ears, the chinstrap broken by his gigantic face.

Waver sighed. His Servant was strong enough to act like a complete idiot, and could still easily beat anyone.

Well, almost anyone.

Not that golden Servant. Archer.

Rider had told Waver that, though he couldn't be sure at this point - "Real courage requires we go ahead even when, no, especially when we have no idea what lies on the other side!" he had once said - Archer's true identity was probably Gilgamesh of Uruk.

What sort of person, what sort of Servant would Gilgamesh of Uruk be? What are his strengths, and his weaknesses? There must be something I can find, some hole I can exploit to bring him down. Even in such a supposedly perfect Servant as he, some flaws must exist.

But how can I find out? Rider was right, it's ridiculous to look in books. If I read Gilgamesh's legends I will learn nothing, since that arrogant man I saw today, who vanished into golden sparks, was nothing like the wise king at the end of the epic. If anything he is the tyrant at its beginning, and such a tyrant could only be tamed by an Enkidu, and I...

Waver looked down at his arms, making a fist and seeing the thin tendons stretch.

I am certainly no Enkidu, equal to him in brawn and manliness. All I have is my intellect, and that is how I must obtain victory. I will defeat Gilgamesh on my own, somehow... or at least weaken him so I can allow my Servant the finishing blow. Hah. I can just see the look on Rider's face now, when he finds out that I, his weak, pitiable Master, brought down the King of Heroes, a Servant whom even he feared!

Thing is, though, I'm going to have to find a way to actually do that, which is far less easy than it sounds.

Waver thought.

The idea came to him that he should, in all secrecy and caution, approach the Tohsaka manor on his own. As he dressed, careful not to wake Rider, he checked the intact Command Spells on his hand - in case, by some unfathomable chance, he should be in danger - and packed a small valise of familiars and potions, which he thought by his research into the Grail might prove effective at binding Servants.

The crystals constituting Waver's familiars twinkled in his hands as he put them in their prana-suppressing cases. Each one in a velvet-lined cube, pulsating with the life he had put into it earlier that morning. Waver's family magic, young though it was, was unique: His family's magic circuits were attuned to [Growth], as a result of the research of Armin Velvet, his grandfather. Armin had found a way to insert small amounts of prana into crystals, which would then stimulate the crystalline structure to replicate itself in fractal patterns. As the crystals grew, so did the prana contained in them. This in and of itself would not have been anything remarkable to the Mages of the Clock Tower; any second-rate Magus could create a structure that would automatically draw ambient magical energy from the surrounding atmosphere or ley lines. Armin's genius, however, was that the prana in the crystals did not come from ambient sources. Rather, it was nothing short of a method to replicate an individual Magus's Od, the personal magical energy generated by his body, and attuned to his Will and Origin.

Armin's research had won him instant acceptance into the Clock Tower, and a professorship in the Necromancy Department, unseating Lord Levi Archibald, the eighth head of the Archibald family. It was rumoured that Armin's untimely death was the result of foul play by Lord Archibald's party. Waver didn't put much stock in rumours, but even he had to admit that Archibald was a little too happy to take his old position back, no matter his protestations to the contrary in Armin's eulogy.

Waver remembered it. He remembered sitting there, a young child. A small boy in a dark suit, incensed at the loss of his family's pride, and the loss of his favourite grandfather, who used to give him miniature skeletons as toys and teach him to animate them, make them dance. He remembered Kayneth, somewhere in his early twenties, in a stiffly starched shirt standing next to his father.

When he first got into Kayneth's lecture at the Clock Tower, he hoped that Kayneth would be annoyed to see him. A reminder that the Archibald family hadn't produced anything of note since Richard Archibald I, the first Lord Archibald who created quicksilver elementals by an ingenious fusion of the magic circuits of dead Mages who had imbued themselves with attributes of water elementals, and iron elementals. This research had won the Archibalds a permanent place in the Clock Tower's hierarchy, but Waver couldn't wait to show Kayneth the power of intellect and effort over inherited status.

But now... Waver held his face in his hands. He couldn't believe his luck in having acquired Iskandar's relic and Rider, but... weren't those meant for Kayneth in the first place? Waver didn't know how to manage his Servant. Rider treated his Master like a toy, and wilfully disobeyed his direct orders! The only threat Waver could possibly hold over his head was the use of Command Seals, but Rider didn't seem to care about that either, and the truth was that Waver would never be foolish enough to spend a Seal on anything but a matter of life and death.

He was a failure. He was nothing but a dog riding on Kayneth's coattails, using Kayneth's relic to summon Kayneth's Servant, all in an attempt to humiliate him! Why did he care so much? It was so stupid. So very stupid. Why was he so stupid? What did it matter what a blowhard like Kayneth thought?

Why couldn't he just focus on his own stuff? Do his own thing, be proud of himself, be satisfied in his own accomplishments, and to hell with everyone else! That's what he should be doing!

Fuck the King of Heroes, Gilgamesh with his self-satisfied smirk. I'll prove myself to myself, and take care of this without anyone knowing. Except maybe Rider. But only for strategic reasons. I need him to know that I am a worthy Magus, so that he will listen to me unconditionally and we can finally win this war.

Waver creeped through the thicket surrounding the Tohsaka manor. Glen and Martha were soundly asleep. Waver had made sure their evening tea had plenty of what he liked to call Magecraft's answer to Valium. He would be back well before they would wake up, so there was no need to worry on that front.

He was, however, quite concerned about the various traps that Tohsaka would assuredly have placed around his manor. His original plan was to let some familiars scout the territory, and to lure Gilgamesh out to investigate. He surmised that Tohsaka was too much of an aristocrat to check himself. If Tohsaka happened to send out his own minor familiars instead of his Servant, then Waver had plenty of tools to deal with those, forcing Archer out.

It was a flawless plan.

What Waver did not expect, though, was that Tohsaka should have absolutely no magical guards at all, besides a perfunctory barrier. Tohsaka's back gate was completely defenseless. Waver saw the pedestal where Tohsaka kept his focus gem, but he didn't think it was worth destroying. He figured that Gilgamesh's innate mana supply would be such that even if Tohsaka lost all his magical energy, Gilgamesh would be able to maintain independent action for quite a while before dissipating and returning to the Throne of Heroes. It would be a pain to deal with the only area on the Tohsaka estate that actually had some form of defenses.

So he avoided it completely, running, knees bent towards the back gate. As he ran, the valise strapped to his back knocked him. By the time he made it to the gate, he was pretty sure his back would be covered in purple welts come morning. He struggled and opened the immense cedar-paneled door. Every creak made him feel like he was about to die. He was sure that Gilgamesh would appear, and skewer him with some sword or spear. He might not even show his face to do it, deeming Waver unworthy to "gaze upon his visage."

Waver's heart was like cool water, flowing to his feet and making them heavy as lead. He couldn't bring himself to close the half-open door, until he realized that he was probably in more danger leaving it open. Better to close it. Hopefully they wouldn't notice him.

He closed it slowly. He thought for a moment, then decided to risk it: He took a crystalline rod from his pocket, whispered an incantation, and it illuminated his surroundings.

He couldn't believe his luck. It looked like this was the corridor leading to Tohsaka's workshop. The veins of magical energy pervading the manor all led to the door on his right. Waver wasn't a Servant, but anyone with any degree of sensitivity would be able to tell. The only question is... how to get in? He could go straight through the door, but the danger of unknown magical artifacts was too much for him. Reluctantly, he passed it by.

Maybe I'll get Tohsaka to relinquish his artifacts and estate to me in exchange for sparing his life.

He came to a large antechamber at the end of the corridor. A window to his rear let in the quiet moonlight. He saw crystals lining the walls, large formations glowing faintly, like the stick in his own hand. But from them he sensed... not a calm feeling, like his own Od in his crystals. He sensed blood, and pain. With horror, Waver realized that the room was filled with mana drained from Tohsaka, except there was far too much for it to have been Tohsaka himself. Yet, they all felt like his, all carrying the same indefinable signature "scent."

Could he have been experimenting on innocents? Kidnapping children, runaways, illegal immigrants whom no one would miss, and literally bleeding them dry?

Waver shuddered at the thought.

This was exactly what he hated about the the Mages' Association. They had no mind for ethics or fellow human beings. They only cared for their personal honor. They were willing to sacrifice the ambitions, and even the very lives of anyone else to make sure they keep their lofty positions. Tohsaka and Kayneth were essentially the same. Kayneth might not have performed brutal experiments like this, but Waver was sure that his position as Lord El-Melloi was protected by the judicious extermination of any threats thereto.

He would have killed Waver had he known that Waver was the one who stole the relic.

In fact, he probably did know.

Waver trembled. Will he come find me? How can I protect myself?

Wait. I have a Servant. My Servant is the strongest of them all, so I'll be okay. Especially once I've gotten rid of Archer. Whatever Kayneth can throw at me, I'll be fine. Then I'll make him grovel for forgiveness, and order Rider to prick his neck with his spatha until he does.

Waver allowed himself a light chuckle.

Relax, Waver. Don't get ahead of yourself. You still need to take care of the immediate nuisance.

He fingered his pocket, where he kept the 'Servant-binders.' They were long spools of thread, on which hung long chains of crystals filled with Waver's Od. They were unassuming, and anyone who saw them would likely mistake them for simple barrier-erectors, placed around a small area to close it off from outside influence. However, Waver had split these crystals into a dipole arrangement: One end of each molecule was filled with his Od, and the other was entirely empty of any magical energy at all, even that of the World. He had tested it on some of Rider's toenail clippings, and found that because Servants are pure manifestations of magical energy, their essence could be leeched by these crystals. Servant-binders were able to suck magical energy out of a Servant, replace it with Waver's Od, and pump it back into the Servant. Like a blood transfusion where the donor had an incompatible blood type with the recipient, the mixture of Waver's Od and the World's magical energy in the Servant's body would be enough to paralyze it at the least, or utterly kill it at the most. It was an incredibly potent poison, which is why Waver had to make sure that Rider wouldn't accidentally pick it up and try to wear it, so he made sure to craft it while Rider was asleep. Rider rarely slept but when he did it was always deep... Waver had to channel some mana into Rider to wake him up every morning, at which point he would stretch out his big oafish arms and inadvertently strike Waver across the chest. God, he was such a pain...

Waver was unsure what to do. He honestly didn't expect it to be this hard to get Gilgamesh's attention.

Clearly, there was only one method remaining, though he had to be incredibly careful or risk immediate death. He wound the Servant-binder around his right fist, confident that it could neutralize anything created by a Servant, including those massive showers of swords that Gilgamesh would throw at his enemies.

He felt his Od trying to penetrate his body. He was able to stave it off for the most part, but some did leak in, and it made him feel sick. It was like having his blood taken out, grown stale in storage, then injected back into him.

He took a deep breath.

"Gilgamesh! Come out, you coward!"

Wow, was that really me? Waver's throat was dry, and he was fairly sure it was cracked and bleeding in places. It felt like someone else. Someone strong. I could get used to this feeling.

His voice echoed. Silence for a moment.

Just when Waver was about to despair, something whizzed by his head, taking some of his hair with it. He saw nothing, only felt the rush of wind as it passed him, and heard an explosion behind him. The smell of sulfur filled the air.

Shit.

He took a deep breath.

"Is that all you've got? Can't you even aim your-"

Before he could finish his taunt, several more missiles passed him. One of them tore a layer of flesh out of his right shoulder. It hurt.

The pain filled his vision. He fell to the ground, and cursed his stupidity, and his weakness. He thought to activate his Command Seals and summon Rider.

His hand wouldn't move.

Fuckity fuck.

The tendon! The bastard cut the tendon!

Well, Command Seals are off the table. Time to die, I guess. Fuck, why am I so incompetent? If I had just stayed home and relied on Rider, none of this would ever have happened.

He started to cry. Tears and mucous rolled down his cheeks.

Things were silent for a moment, not a sound but Waver's sobs.

"Mongrel!"

Waver couldn't stop crying. He lifted his eyes to the source of the sound, not that it helped much, clouded as they were. It seemed to come from everywhere at once, but especially from the top of the staircase before him.

"I permitted you to tread this far, on account of your insignificance. However!" The voice shook the room with sheer power. Archer was a real blowhard. Couldn't he just get this over with? "I cannot brook any insults to the office which I inhabit. It is the sacredness of the King, he who is above all, standing alone at the pinnacle of existence which is insulted here, and I am he who must punish any incursions to that sacredness. Like you, little worm."

Waver got the sense that Gilgamesh was enjoying the thought of crushing him under his projectile rain. Waver was enjoying the thought of Gilgamesh shutting up and crushing him already.

"I will not give you the honor of witnessing my divine form upon your death. Now, begone."

A single spear leapt towards Waver. He saw it coming, and certainly could have lifted his right arm to protect himself. No harm in doing so, right? Hell, it might even work. But... what's the point? I screwed up everything. I deserve to die. Rider deserves a better Master. There's no way he could've won the Grail anyway, not with me weighing him down, and even if he did, I would have no right to take pride in it.

He let his arm stay to his side. He closed his eyes, and stopped crying. His vision was clear, and he accepted his demise.

The spear flew, and... though he waited, though he craved the end, Waver felt nothing.

Cautiously, he opened his eyes.

Before him, Assassin's female form stood, a golden spear embedded in her abdomen.

She came to save me? Why?

She coughed, and blood spilled from her mouth.

"Mongrel!" Archer shouted from nowhere and everywhere. "How dare you stand between me and my prey?"

She chuckled. Her voice was raspy. "Sorry, Archer. This one's mine."

"Tokiomi goes too far, suggesting I lay not hand upon you."

"Leave your sadomasochistic relationship with your Master out of this, Archer," Assassin said. "Remember that you may think yourself hidden, but just because this kid can't see you doesn't mean I can't." She flicked her wrist, and straight swords with simple red hilts appeared between her knuckles. "Or would you prefer I destroyed your 'palace', and kill your Master? I'm sure I could do at least that much before you managed to off me."

"Disgusting bitch." Archer sounded threatening, but unsure. "Begone, and tell your foolish Master that I pity him for your company. Had you lived in my era we would have consigned you to the dirtiest heap of excrement we could find, a snivelling dog hiding in the shadows without the sense to know your place under the men."

"Had I lived in your era," Assassin replied, "The throne of Uruk would have been occupied by a eunuch."

Gilgamesh held his silence, and his spear inside Assassin dissolved into sunlike yellow. Assassin turned around. A wide smile, flecked with blood, filled her face.

God, I... I never realized it before when I was watching her battle, but...

"Ready to get out of here?"

She's beautiful.

Waver nodded.

"So, what led you to try that?" Assassin asked.

Waver leaned on her shoulder. The smell of her blood filled his nostrils, and he walked on with her.

"I had to."

Even now, I'm just slowing her down.

"Well, sure, but you know that's an empty phrase, right?"

Her soft hair brushed against his face.

He grew nervous, despite himself.

Does she not realize what this is like?

I'm pathetic. Leaning for support on an injured person, when I'm unharmed.

"I could've done it, you know," he said.

"Oh, sure," Assassin said. "The most powerful Heroic Spirit in this, or probably any, Holy Grail War, and you'd kill him with a necklace?"

"It's called a 'Servant-Binder'..."

Her hand moved from his shoulder, and went into his trouser pocket.

"Hey! You can't-!"

"Can't what?"

She passed something from one hand to the other, then, as she returned one hand to his shoulder, she waved the other one in front of his face.

Sparkling points of light appeared before Waver's face.

He reached out to grab the Servant-Binder from her hand, but she pulled it out of his reach, and he lost his footing. He tripped, his left foot stumbling on the back of his right, and would have fallen if Assassin didn't hold him fast to her.

Waver sighed.

They went on.

"Oh, come on," Assassin said. "You should be glad you're still alive after that stunt you pulled, rather than sighing as if to say 'Oh man, it's such a drag, I don't even care if they let me into the apathy club'. It's not a good look for you."

"Easy for you to say," Waver grumbled. "You're strong."

"True," she mused. "I am strong."

Silence.

Waver coughed, and figured he may as well ask what had been bothering him all this time.

"So, tell me something."

"Hmm?"

The image of her male form - if that's what he was - emerging out of her came to his mind again. He felt sick.

"What sort of legend do you have, if you could have another 'you' inside of you like that?"

She said nothing. He felt even sicker. He must have offended her, or maybe he pried where he shouldn't have. Maybe she would decide that the amusement or whatever that she got from helping him wasn't worth it.

Maybe Assassin really wasn't - weren't? - as trustworthy as Rider seemed to think.

But she's so kind.

But just because she acts that way doesn't mean she really cares about you, another voice in Waver said.

I can't argue with you, he replied to the other Waver. But if she betrays me, I'll die here and now, so I may as well trust her.

You know you're only deceiving yourself, his inner critic said.

I know. But I have no choice. I think Iskandar would say the same.

Some time passed, and Assassin spoke.

"I can't tell you everything you want to know, since that would give you an advantage over me and my Master."

Waver's heart leapt. See, he said to himself, I told you!

A reply from his soul: Whatever you say.

Assassin continued. "What I can tell you is this. I was tormented by the one you saw in life, and he forced me into a sort of union with him. It seems that this union superimposed itself on my soul, which then transferred to my image from the perspective of the Throne of Heroes. So he's pursued me beyond death, and now I make the most of it. Fortunately, he doesn't seem much happier about things than I am, so we're in the same boat."

She paused. Then, "Why do you ask? Isn't it enough that I saved your ass from certain death?"

Waver stammered. "I-I don't know. I'm sorry, I didn't mean to offend you or anything."

She laughed. "Did you think a 'sorry' would be enough to undo the pain that goes through me every time I think about him?"

He froze in place. Sweat covered his brow, and a momentary tug at his arm as she pulled, not realizing he had stopped. They were like a truck towing an RV, if the RV's brakes suddenly kicked in.

Assassin sighed, and looked at him. Her eyes of light blue reminded Waver of the pure liquid he used in his alchemical experiments. He admired the fluid, always trying to coax it to do what he wanted, though his attempts would always end in abject failure. "Look, I understand you didn't mean anything by it. But please, if you care at all for my feelings on the matter, or if you don't want me to hate you - and possibly rethink bringing you home in one piece, pathetic as you are - then you'll steer clear of that topic." She held his face in her hand, palm on the underside of his chin. "Do you understand? I'd hate to break your pretty face. You'd've made a cute girl."

Waver blushed, losing himself for a moment in what he chose to consider a compliment, before the pain of her hand squeezing him brought him back to himself. "Yes." He tried to nod, but couldn't fight against her grip on his face.

She relaxed. "Good," she said. She turned her back - strongly muscular, he noticed, but still slender and beautiful - to him, and began walking. "Now tell me, since I would enjoy hearing your answer. What made you attack Archer on your own? If you wanted to die you could've done it just now, while I held your fragile self in my fingers, and you would've enjoyed it far more."

Waver ran to catch up with her, and settled into a pace matching hers. "I had to. It's like you said, I'm fragile. The only thing I can do is theoretical Magecraft, and if I'm to be honest, I'm not particularly good at that. My Servant is the source of my strength, but I want something more. You know? I want to be strong on my own."

She said nothing in return, so he continued.

"I know you didn't want me to mention it, but isn't it the same for you? Don't you want your own identity, separate from that male persona or whatever he is?"

Waver was to Assassin's left and behind her, afraid of getting to close to her field of vision and angering her. She turned her head to face him, and the look in her eyes made his knees quiver. Then she smiled, without malice or bloodlust. There was only kindness in her gaze, on her lips.

Waver felt that the beauty he saw when she rescued him was transcended - or complemented? - by this new side of her.

Her hair bounced to the tempo of her feet. "You're not correct, but you're not wrong either. I'll say it's a good first try."

She turned to the road ahead of them.

"So, what I said before? I've reconsidered. Ask me what you will. But," she pointed to a Western-style house on a hill in the distance, "you've only got till we arrive at your house. Better hurry up."

She started to run.

XXX

Waver Velvet lay on his back in his room.

That was a night.

He closed his eyes and rubbed them, trying to sort out what happened and what couldn't have happened. Only the latter was real.

I don't think I've ever had such a terrible night. Not even after I found out I had gotten a 92 on a Necromancy exam. Oh, how I cried then. But now? I almost got myself killed, and then...

A smile pricked up his lips, uninvited.

She saved me.

He tossed and turned in bed, hugging his pillow to his chest. He couldn't find a comfortable position, so he just kept moving. It was as good a way as any to express what he was feeling.

And she was great! I mean, I was so impressed by her power as a Servant! A member of the Assassin class, but by no means was she some coward consigned to the shadows.

I wish she were my Servant.

He opened one eye and surreptitiously peeked to make sure that Iskandar was asleep. The bastard had surprised him when he got back, all like "Boy! I'm proud of you! How was she?"

Waver blushed remembering it. As if I would ever stoop so low.

As if she would ever... with me.

He sighed, and buried his face in the pillow.

What am I thinking? How is this going to help me? I can't let myself get distracted like this.

A voice spoke, sounding like Waver's, but not nearly as intelligent.

Are you actually going to pine after her? You say you want her as a Servant, but you know as well as I do that the only thing on your mind is Tantric Ritual.

"Shut up," he whispered into the pillow.

Is that it? No, no it's not. It can't be. I don't even like her.

Since when did that make a difference, the other Waver interjected.

The other Waver was ignored this time. She's aggressive, and she could've killed me at any moment. She enjoyed scaring me. And when she held my face, I thought she was going to break it, it was so painful. And when she looked at me...

You just wanted to fall into her eyes, didn't you? Fucking sap.

As softly as he could, Waver directed his voice into the pillow. "Grrr."

Fine, fine, I get it. Adios.

The interloper disposed of for the moment, Waver considered what he had learned. He pulled the bedsheets over his head, and took a small flashlight, pen, and a notebook out of his pocket. He wrote:

I can't believe I had the presence of mind to ask her anything, the way I had to run to keep up with her. I think my knees are going to dislocate themselves next time they have a chance.

Can I take a break to see an orthopaedist? Attach a white flag to my ambulette? Maybe the other Masters will be nice enough to wait.

Or maybe not.

So. It seems I was wrong about Tohsaka's crystals. It turns out they're something else entirely. Ciel - that's her name, Assassin's, so heavenly - doesn't quite know herself, but there's no evidence of anything so untoward at the Tohsaka manor. I don't entirely know how she knows this, but I'm going to guess she's been using her Assassin class skills to monitor the other Masters, to the extent she knows who and where they are; and it's not hard to find the respective headquarters of the Three Great Families of the Grail.

On the subject of Ciel's male half: I can't bear to repeat here what I learned of her past life, but suffice it to say that I understand as well as any observer could why she feels the way she does. I wouldn't wish such hardships on my worst enemy, let alone a sweet soul like hers. How he emerges from her... She couldn't go into details, but based on what she said, and my own limited understanding of the Grail, he emerges from her when she dies. He's kind of like a backup, or a dueling second; and she can call him forth when she wants to, but she has to kill herself - or force her body to the edge of death, a line it cannot cross - in order to call him forth.

His vampirism allows him to sustain himself on magical energy he absorbs from others, so he is, in effect, completely independent of her. A parasite, living inside her, since if not for her there was no way he could possibly have been returned to the bounds of the Human Order. He did not merit inclusion in the Throne of Heroes on his own merit, being forced to ride upon her coattails instead.

I asked her what would happen if her male half - Roa, she called him - were killed while he was outside of her. She didn't answer, and I don't think she knows for sure, but I wonder if that would kill her entirely.

He crossed out the last sentence.

Be that as it may, she is probably the most anomalous Servant ever to be summoned to a Holy Grail War. I'm going to need to keep track of her, since she will definitely give me a lot of insight into the Grail's workings. My only other avenue for that knowledge would be to speak to the heads of the Three Families. That would be the ideal, but being that they've all got Servants in this War, and are trying to kill me, that probably won't be very easy.

Unless they kidnap me and tell me everything as I hang above a vat of anthropophagic acid.

That, however, has its own drawbacks.

Back on topic.

It was ridiculous of me to think that I could make a contract with Ciel, but I believe that an alliance would be prudent. Tomorrow I should talk to Rider, explain to him why this makes sense. He can be pretty stubborn sometimes. Hard to believe this big oaf used to rule the known world.

Ciel didn't tell me much about her Master, but he can't be that bad. Not if he summoned her. Servants were supposed to have some psychic similarities to the Masters who summoned them, right? He must be reasonable.

Waver stopped writing. He closed the book, switched off the flashlight, and capped his pen. He put them in his pillowcase, and closed his eyes, waiting for sleep.

Hmm. If Servants resemble their Masters, then what does that say about me and Rider?

Oh, it doesn't matter. It wasn't my relic anyway.

Sleep took him. As Waver pored over books written in Demotic German, the language of his innermost dream-thoughts, the bedroom was still.

XXX

He's learning more every day, isn't he? Love, war, each in its time.

He'll surpass me yet.

Rider's heart stilled. The waves of Okeanos led him to tranquility, the realm of Hypnos and Morpheus.

I hope he doesn't realize I lent him some of my magical energy to repair his arm.

The boy would never forgive me.

Hey y'all. Hope you liked it.

So, for this chapter I started with the idea of Roa talking to Iskandar and Gil about women, because... I suppose I felt like some fluff. Waver's bit is more character-development than strict fluff, perhaps.

So... irl updates, irl updates.

As is traditional with chapter notes to this fic, it is time for me to tell y'all about my reading and such since the last chapter was uploaded. Let us begin.

I read Pnin, by Nabokov (a very funny, and poignant book. Interesting for its depiction of academia in the '50s. Definitely worth comparing then and now), Geometry of Special Relativity, by Dray (a book which is at the same time terribly interesting as well as hard to understand. It's short and well-written, but I can't say for sure that I understood more than 5% or so. But what a great 5%!).

In addition, I read Six of Crows, by Leigh Bardugo. I'm glad I did, since it's been a very long time since I've read a YA book, and this was an excellent one to rekindle my lost love for the genre. Its sequel, Crooked Kingdom, waits on my dresser.

I love Nina. Nina is great.

Ciel's characterization owes a fair bit to her.

On the musical side of things, I've been listening to early Fallout Boy and Panic at the Disco. There is no better Panic song title than "Lying is the most fun a girl can have without taking her clothes off," and no better Panic video than "Build God, then we'll talk".

Fallout Boy is sublime, and I have a special pleasure when I can actually make out what their lyrics are saying without looking it up.

Hrrrrrmmm what else what else... It's terribly hot out. This would be a bigger problem if I had to go outside, but the air conditioning situation indoors is Less-Than-Perfect(tm).

Time to drink like a fish.

See all you lovely people next time.